


A Patchwork Family: The Proposal

by Lbilover



Series: A Patchwork Family Series [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, M/M, Post-Quest, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: A nervous Frodo has a question to ask of Sam; or 11 words of Tolkien’s placed in a slightly different context.





	

_Astron, 1420_

“Sam, now that Bag End has been put back in order, I was wondering if possibly you might think about whether you would conceivably consider the possibility of…” 

_Oh dear._

“Sam, I realise that I am thirteen years your elder, and that I’ve been wounded by knife, sting, tooth and my long burden, but might you not find it in your heart to take pity on me and…”

_Have you no shame, Frodo Baggins?_

“Sam, I know that you don’t like to leave your Gaffer, but he at least has the Widow to look after him. I have no one, and I’m rattling around here in Bag End like a solitary pea in a pod…”

_Oh, well done, Frodo._ That _certainly sounds persuasive._

Frodo stared at himself in the looking glass in his bedchamber. This rehearsal was certainly not going well. But then it was hardly surprising, for the thin, wan Frodo who stared back was not an inspiring sight. Raising his fingers to his cheeks, Frodo pinched them, trying to put a little hobbity colour into his face, but the resulting red spots only emphasized the pallor that surrounded them. It was hopeless, he thought. He would never again be the rosy-cheeked, slightly out-of-shape Frodo Baggins who had once looked into a dusty mirror in the nearly-empty hall and thought that walking across country to Bucklebury Ferry with Pippin and Sam would be a good idea. 

“How can I ask Sam to share my life?” he asked his reflection, touching the star-gem at his breast with his right hand and experiencing a sickening lurch of memory and loss at the sight of his missing finger. “But then… how can I not? He holds my heart in his hands, and I should be lost without him. I must ask, and I cannot put it off any longer.” He sighed. “If only I could find the right words.”

Behind him in the mirror, Frodo caught sight of a pair of bright dark eyes, and he was momentarily distracted from his sorry attempts at practicing his proposal to Sam. It was Huan, curled up on the end of the bed with his head on his paws and his gaze fixed unblinkingly on Frodo.

It still unnerved Frodo a little the way Huan watched him so constantly. For the first few days after Frodo had brought him home, this behaviour had had an alarmed Frodo convinced that Huan was on the verge of dying from starvation. Only Sam’s repeated reassurances that, on the contrary, Huan was growing stronger with each passing day had prevented Frodo from dashing to fill the whippet’s bowl with food every time he fixed those dark eyes on Frodo’s face.

“Then why does he stare at me that way?” Frodo had asked Sam worriedly. “There must be something amiss, Sam. He must be ill, or injured, or-”

Sam had interrupted him, laughing, “Oh Frodo, there’s naught amiss with Huan. He’s only studying you. Trying to figure you out, you might say. Learning your ways and your moods, what makes you happy or sad. Huan can’t ask you no questions, so how else can he get to know you? Or maybe,” Sam had teased, catching Frodo up in his arms and hugging him, “he just likes to look at you, seeing as how you’re the fairest hobbit as ever lived.”

Frodo had not been quite convinced by any of these explanations, especially the last one, but he had to admit that Huan had figured out an awful lot about his new master and his habits in the two short weeks he had lived with him. It was rather astonishing how quickly Huan had settled into life at Bag End, how much a part of it he already seemed, and how, insensibly, Frodo had come to rely on his constant presence and the comfort it brought. 

Never having kept a dog before, Frodo had had only the vaguest idea of what it would entail other than seeing to it that Huan had food and shelter and was kept safe from any repetition of the cruel treatment he had received at the hands (and feet) of Wil Proudfoot and his ilk. He had assumed that Huan would otherwise occupy himself with whatever sorts of mysterious business dogs got up to in their spare time- digging holes in the garden, perhaps, or chasing squirrels. 

But he had soon discovered that what Huan considered his business was Frodo, and that he took his business very seriously indeed. The whippet might be sound asleep in his bed by the hearth, but if Frodo left the kitchen, within seconds he would hear the faint click of toenails on wood, and there Huan would be, close at Frodo’s heels like a small grey shadow. He wasn’t demanding of attention, far from it; Huan simply wished to be wherever Frodo was, and if he couldn’t be… well, Frodo had rarely heard anything so forlorn as the mournful howl that rose inside Bag End when he set out for Bywater one morning and attempted to leave Huan behind. 

Frodo turned away from the mirror and went to sit beside Huan on the bed, drawing his knee up and leaning on one arm. The little whippet snuggled up against him, and with a contented sigh rested his head on Frodo’s leg. Frodo swallowed a small lump in his throat, and gently stroked Huan’s side with his free hand. 

It wasn’t simply wishful thinking, he decided: the blue-grey fur under his fingers felt soft and had a definite gloss to it now, and Huan’s ribs were no longer in stark evidence, but lightly padded with flesh. The nourishing meals that he and Sam were giving Huan, not to mention the little whippet’s voracious appetite for them, were having a positive effect. Frodo only wished the same was true in his own case.

“At least you put on weight when you eat, Huan,” Frodo sighed, his thoughts returning to the matter at hand. “I can’t seem to, even when I have a good appetite- which is not nearly often enough to satisfy Sam.” 

Huan made no response, of course; but then Frodo had discovered that it didn’t really matter whether he responded or not. His silent sympathy invited Frodo’s confidences, and he seemed intuitively to understand Frodo’s moods.

“Sam worries about me, Huan,” Frodo went on softly, “especially when he isn’t here to care for me, but am I doing rightly by Sam to ask him to move into Bag End?” Frodo paused, his hand going still on Huan’s neck. “For that is surely not the path Sam’s family would choose for him. I know what you would say: Sam is of age, and not only that, he is, as Gandalf said, among the great now… though dear Sam is far too modest ever to see himself in such a light. He ought to be able to make up his own mind, without needing his Gaffer’s permission.” Frodo sighed again. “But he has always set such store by his father’s opinion, Huan.”

Huan gave a low whine, and Frodo resumed petting him. “And even if he ignores the Gaffer’s wishes, what of his own? Perhaps he doesn’t wish to be bound to one so wounded and in need of care. I don’t doubt Sam’s love for me, Huan, but there is so much he will have to sacrifice… and so little that I can offer in recompense… Yet… if don’t ask, will he conclude that I don’t truly love him after all, or that I-?”

Frodo’s musings broke off as Huan suddenly lifted his head, and his rose ears stood at attention. He looked toward the open door, and his tail began to beat a muffled tattoo on the coverlet. 

Huan’s behaviour could mean only one thing: Sam had arrived.

“Frodo?” came Sam’s voice from the hallway.

“I’m in the bedroom, Sam,” Frodo called, and got up from the bed, his heart thumping painfully. He fussed at his clothes for a moment, and then smoothed his hair, while he quelled a cowardly desire to dive under the covers and hide. “Oh Huan,” he whispered, “this is it.” Huan sat up and woofed in what Frodo took to be an encouraging manner.

There was a sound of quick footsteps, and then Sam came into the room. He halted at the sight of Frodo, his face set and his complexion even paler than usual. “My dear, what’s the matter? Are you feeling ill?” he said anxiously, hurrying forward to take Frodo’s shoulders gently between his hands and look searchingly into his eyes.

“I’m quite well,” Frodo hastened to reassure him. “It’s only that there is something I need to say to you, Sam, and I am, well… a trifle nervous.” He discreetly wiped his damp palms on the legs of his trousers.

“There’s no call for nervousness, not between me and you,” Sam replied quietly, though he had gone rather pale himself, as if anticipating bad news of some sort. “Just say what you have to say, Frodo.”

Frodo gathered his courage, drew a deep breath, and blurted out the first words to pop into his brain: “When are you going to move in and join me, Sam?” 

Sam’s face broke into a wide, relieved, beautiful smile. “Would today be too soon, Frodo-love?” he asked.

~end~


End file.
